


Seriously, Stiles? Again?

by wolfflock (Hun__Sher)



Series: TWBingo2020 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angel Derek Hale, Derek is Stiles' guardian angel, Guardian Angels, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Magic, Protective Derek Hale, Sassy Derek Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, please read the notes about that, there's a scene that might be triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26997040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hun__Sher/pseuds/wolfflock
Summary: Stiles has magic, and to protect him from turning evil, Derek is assigned to be his guardian angel. Stiles is not good at taking advice. Derek is protective of Stiles. Both of them are little shits.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: TWBingo2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970941
Kudos: 113
Collections: Teen Wolf Bingo





	Seriously, Stiles? Again?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second prompt fill for Teen Wolf Bingo 2020, and the trope was Guardian Angels.
> 
> In dialogues, _Derek's part is italicized_ , and **Stiles' thoughts are written in bold**.
> 
> CW: There is a scene that might sound like it would lead to someone being raped, but that's not what happens. Bullies drag Stiles around, drive him to a lake, undress him, then throw him in said lake.

Stiles Stilinski was 10 years old when he first heard _his_ voice. If one was honest, one would say Stiles freaked out so much that he fell off the tree he was climbing to get into the neighbor’s backyard. The stern _“What are you doing?”_ came as such a shock that Stiles’ already sweaty hands stopped a few inches away from where they were heading, leaving the rest of Stiles’ body to finish the movement and head dive like a sack of potatoes. He landed on his front, thankfully missing the brick wall separating the two backyards, the thick layer of flowers softening the impact.

He was lying there, face smashed into decorative pebbles and crumpled petals, breathing hard and trying to stave off a panic attack. He gave his legs a tentative shake, which were fine, but when he wanted to lift his arms to push himself up, he cried out in pain. Agonizing, sharp jolts of heat radiated from his left collarbone, and his fingers tingled a little. He didn’t have much time to catalogue all these sensations as his dad was running out of the house, jumping off the back porch and crouching next to Stiles a second later.

“What happened, kiddo? Are you alright?” His hand hovered over Stiles, who by this point managed to sit up and was cradling his left arm close to his body, trying to move it as little as possible. 

“I fell off the tree,” he said, sad pleading eyes turning to his dads’. The Sheriff reached out and ruffled his head then swiped his thumb across Stiles’ cheeks to wipe away tears he didn’t even realize he shed.

“Where does it hurt? Is it your head? Your arm?”

“It’s up here,” he said, pointing to his left collarbone with his uninjured hand. “It hurts when I try to move it.”

“Well, let’s go to the hospital and have that checked out,” his dad said as he took his other hand and walked him to the car.

On the way there, Stiles tried to think about what happened, and decided that _no_ , it was silly, he couldn’t have heard someone’s voice, he was alone. He was staring out the window when he heard it again.

_“Are you okay?”_

Stiles swiftly looked around, wincing at the pain the movement caused. When he couldn’t see anyone, and he laughed at himself at how childish it was to think he could hear someone who wasn’t there.

When they arrived at the hospital, Scott’s mom, Ms McCall was working. She rushed to them, helped with getting a doctor to check Stiles’ shoulder. It took a while, but he got a sling, some pills and the doctor told him, in a very serious voice, that he needs to rest and let his bones heal. He nodded, because honestly, the way the doctor said it sounded great, especially when he mentioned that Stiles would get a sick note and could stay home for the rest of the week.

On the way home, they stopped at a diner to have some burgers and fries, so all in all Stiles felt like it wasn’t a bad day. He was injured, sure, but he got curly fries and 3 days at home out of the whole thing. It was a win in his book!

He didn’t really feel the same way when bath time came and his dad had to help him out of his clothes ( _ouch ouch_ ). He also sat on the toilet and waited for Stiles to finish because he was worried and said “I’ll just sit here in case you need help or anything. Please, don’t injure yourself anymore, one sling is enough, we don’t need a cast as well.”

Stiles didn’t. It was a feat, though, getting his PJs on, even with his dad’s help but eventually he was tucked into bed, his favorite crocodile plushie sitting next to his pillow as his dad rummaged through his bookshelf. Stiles felt like he needed something soothing, so he asked his dad to dig out his favorite childhood book and read it to him until he fell asleep.

When he woke up, it was still dark outside. He slowly blinked a few times, looking around the room, trying to find what woke him. He didn’t see anything out of order, so he tugged Mr Croco closer to his chest and tried to get comfortable so his sling wasn’t cutting into his neck.

_“I’m sorry,”_ the voice said again. And this time Stiles could hear it a lot clearer, a soft whisper floating through the quiet room. 

“Why can I hear you?” Stiles probably should have asked _who_ it was that he could hear, but he just wanted to know _why_.

_“Because I am your guardian angel,”_ came the reply, which confused Stiles.

He has heard of angels, from books to films, but he never thought they were real. His dad certainly didn’t seem to have an angel, because Stiles knew his dad and he would tell Stiles if he had something as cool as a guardian angel. Stiles decided that he needed to find his encyclopedia in the morning and read more about angels. Not knowing things made him twitchy and anxious.

“What do you do then, as an angel?” He squinted, trying to see better in the darkness, although he wasn't sure there was anything to see. He mentally made a note to add this to the list of things he needed to find out, if his _angel_ has a physical form.

_"Well, I take care of you,"_ Angel replied after a long pause.

Stiles snorted because really, he was bedridden _because_ of the dude.

“You’re not really good at your job, then,” he said, trying to not curse his luck. Trust Stiles to be the only kid with a guardian angel who causes him harm instead of preventing it.

_“This is my first job,”_ Angel said, disgruntled, and that deep grunt-like noise made Stiles wonder. Angel sounded like a boy, maybe a few years older than him. Which was odd, that someone so young could be an angel, but Stiles didn’t know enough so he wanted as much information as he could get. His mental list of questions was growing with every passing second until he couldn’t keep them all in.

“Who are you? What is your name? How old are you? Because you sound like you’re just a bit older than me, and that is odd, but I am not really familiar with angels and I certainly haven’t met one. Does everyone have a guardian angel? Because I never heard anyone talk about it. Is it like a secret you need to keep and never tell anyone, not even your parents? Why are _you_ my angel? And why can’t I see you? It’s so weird that I can hear you, but it also sounds like you’re in my head… and are you in my head? Anyway… sorry.” He blushed, as he recalled the countless times teachers had told him to ask only one question at a time and not confuse the others with his interrogation and endless babbling.

Angel first snorted and then just laughed, a smooth, tinkling sound, like when fine glasses touched.

_“That's… a lot of questions ,"_ the voice sighed, and he sounded resigned. After a moment, though, he continued. _"I’m an angel. You can call me Derek. I sound like we’re the same age because humans seem to develop connections fastest when we present as their peers."_

He sounded like he was reading off of a paper and Stiles wondered for a second if they made Angel memorize this introduction. Before Stiles could have interrupted him, he continued. 

_"Not everyone has a guardian angel, only those who show some affinity towards magic."_

"Magic?" Stiles asked, disbelieving. "So cool. Wait. Does that mean _I do_?"

Angel - Derek - kept reading off his imaginary script without paying any attention to Stiles talking.

_"Having a guardian angel to keep you safe and supervise your development is the best way to make sure that you will never use your powers for the wrong reasons or lose your spark to the Darkness."_

"What is a spark? And how can you lose it _to_ darkness? I could --" Stiles enquired. Derek just kept talking. Stiles started to have a feeling that Derek wasn't a fan of answering questions. Or he was just on a roll and was afraid that he would forget the end of his speech so he just powered through. Stiles could sympathize, it had happened to him several times before.

_"I was assigned as your guardian angel because we are compatible. It means that our thoughts and feelings complement each other."_

Stiles was just taking a breath to ask something but before he could utter a word, Derek was saying his piece again.

_"And you don’t see me because I am not in my human form right now. I think it's obvious that just speaking to you this afternoon wasn't the best approach. I can only imagine your reaction if you had seen someone standing there under the tree,”_ Derek laughed, and… rude! Stiles had been perfectly justified in his shock and inevitable flailing when a strange voice asked him what he was doing while he was trying to sneak into his neighbours' backyard. He probably would have had a panic attack on top of the tree if someone had materialized from thin air, okay. 

“Can I see you, then?” He asked, curious now, in the safety of his own bed.

_“I’m by the window,”_ Derek said. As Stiles turned his head towards his window, the faint moonlight glimmered, the same way snowflakes do when light hits them in the night. A few moments later it stopped, and Stiles could make out the silhouette of someone sitting on the window ledge. The body moved and came into the light and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. A dark haired boy, around 13 years old, stood in front of him, wearing nothing but blue, an overcoat and matching suit pants, the color in sharp contrast with his pale skin. A shy smile played on his lips as he tucked his hands in his pockets, shrugging.

_“This is just a vessel,_ _”_ Derek said. _“We choose them based on what we know about our proteges, to make them feel at ease around us. Don’t get too used to it, though. To avoid any… reactions like yours this afternoon, I will only manifest in my human form when there’s no one around. Otherwise we might draw unwanted attention_.”

“Derek?” Stiles asked.

_“Yes, Stiles?_ ”

“Can we continue this tomorrow? I’m really tired,” he finished with a jawn.

_“Of course. Good night, Stiles,”_ Derek replied, but sleep took over Stiles before he could have returned it.

~x~

At first when Stiles woke up, the sky still tinged grey with the smallest hint of yellow and orange in it, he thought it was all a weird dream: an accident, angels and a strange boy in his room… but when he tried to roll over on his side, his whole upper body screamed at him in pain. He winced as he tried to remove any pressure from his left side, but it didn’t make things all that much better; he ached in places that were nowhere near close to his injured clavicle. After a few minutes, he gave up and rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Derek?” he tried, whispering, although he had no idea how loud he had to be for Derek to hear him.

_“Yes, Stiles?”_ came the immediate response. Despite the early hour, he sounded awake and alert. That made Stiles wonder if angels slept at all, and the thought, without much filtering, turned into a question he voiced.

Derek just snorted and materialized out of thin air, which shocked Stiles so much, he almost bounced off the bed.

_“Vessel, remember?”_ Derek asked, gesturing at his own body, looking at Stiles like he was slow on the uptake.

“And you said you have this body because you know this… boy… will make me feel less freaked out?” Stiles continued, his brain firing up fast, his questions from the night before coming back to him.

_“This is my first job, so it was my boss who decided what I should look like. Apparently you find--”_ he looked his body over, as if it was a strange extension of him, _“the presence of gangly teenage boys comforting.”_ He shrugged and looked at Stiles. _“I don’t know, you tell me. What do you think?”_ And with that, he opened his arms and turned around so Stiles could see him properly.

Stiles scratched the back of his head, his short hair tickling his palm. 

“You look like you could be one of the cool guys from school,” he confessed and Derek flashed a smug grin at him. “Talking about cool… Last night you said stuff about magic and sparks and darkness. What are those?”

Stiles glanced at Derek, hoping that it was clearly written on his face how curious he was. He wanted answers and he could barely hold back from vibrating off his bed.

Derek sighed, rubbed his hand across his face and, without saying a word, indicated at Stiles’ bed with the support of two raised eyebrows. Stiles interpreted it as him asking if he could sit, so he just nodded. 

As if it physically hurt him to entertain Stiles’ _totally appropriate_ questions -- which was impossible, as Derek was an angel, he couldn’t get _hurt_ \-- he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he looked at Stiles as he explained.

_“A spark is someone who has natural, untrained magical powers. Like you. I don’t know exactly how powerful you are -- it’s not like they would tell us that._ Oh, watch out, you’re guarding the anti Christ _."_ Stiles snorted at that but he was too enraptured to interrupt. Derek carried on. 

_“So you have magic, which you will need to learn how to use so no one gets hurt. Which… judging by the way you dove out of that tree… It will take a while, let’s just say that.”_

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault that you scared the crap out of me. I was expecting to be alone, and then a stranger’s voice talked to me.”

_“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’m just saying. It is going to take years to master it; how to use your raw talent, your_ spark _, and how to cast spells, make potions and all that jazz. And… my job is to keep you safe while you do so, and… hopefully keep you from getting arrested or something.”_

Stiles was both hurt and amused by Derek’s bluntness. He kind of could see why Derek was assigned to him as his guardian. He was sarcastic but funny, and apparently great at pushing Stiles’ buttons. But he still wanted to know more, so he kept pushing.

“Is that when _darkness_ happens?” Stiles asked, flailing his arms around to emphasize his point. “When someone does something bad with magic?”

_“Yes, sort of. If someone does it too often and for too long, it becomes irreversible and they will never be able to find the light again,”_ Derek said, his face set in a serious expression.

“Makes sense they send guardian angels, then,” Stiles concluded and smiled at Derek. “It will be fun, learning magic!” He fistpumped the air with his uninjured hand, and jumped off his bed to go pee.

~x~

It most definitely wasn’t. Fun, that is. There were moments when Stiles could have choked Derek and Derek didn’t even need to use his words to have that effect. As they grew older -- well, Stiles did, Derek just changed body from one night to morning when his vessel was supposed to reach 18. Stiles was, once again, scared out of his wits when, that morning, he woke up to seeing a grown ass dude sitting in his desk chair. 

The loud snort, eye roll and _“Jesus, Stiles, don’t brain yourself. It’s just me”_ was enough to slowly calm his breathing and heartbeat back to normal. 

“Warn a guy, damn, dude,” Stiles muttered and turned away from Derek to ease his mood with some more sleep.

As they grew older, though, it became obvious that their compatibility meant an unmatched level of sarcasm between the two of them, a love/hate kind of relationship and a whole lot of pent up frustration that came from Derek not having an _actual_ human body that worked like others’ bodies, namely Stiles couldn’t harm him. As Derek promised, Stiles’ progress was slow, made even slower by Stiles’ reluctance to _concentrate and practice_ , as Derek pointed out every 5 seconds. Part of it was, though, that Derek annoyed Stiles so much that the only way he could get back to the angel was by breaking things or setting them on fire, for Derek to do damage control. Stiles found it hilarious. Derek less so.

It didn’t help that after hitting age 13, Stiles found out that he liked not only girls but boys as well. All thanks to Derek, who somehow invaded Stiles’ dreams, especially after arguments where they were so close to each other that Stiles would have felt Derek’s breath on his face, had he been a human being who actually breathed. Stiles hoped to whoever was out there listening to him that he would never develop that skill where Derek could see what’s happening in his mind because then he would be _screwed._ And not in the way his high school teenage boy brain wanted to.

Despite this, after 6 years, at age 16, Stiles thought he had a pretty good handle on the whole guardian angel thing. Sure, he might have done everything in his power to go against whatever Derek was telling him, heavenly foresight or not, but there were times when he was still freaked out by the whole angel and spark and magic thing, just like when he was little.

Like when he was standing in the lake, butt naked in the middle of winter, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and angered the wrong people. It was not his fault that he was 147 pounds and sarcasm was his only defense. ( _If you asked Derek, he would disagree, though, but nobody should ask Derek_ , Stiles thought.) But sometimes that just made things even worse. His big mouth, that is, that liked to lead conversations for him. 

It started at the lacrosse game. The team, which he joined in freshman year, was losing -- as usual -- and Stiles was sitting on the benches -- as usual. What wasn’t usual was the fact that Lydia Martin, the girl Stiles has been crushing on since even before Derek came around, was in the crowd, watching the game. Theoretically, Stiles _knew_ she wasn’t there for him, or that she probably wouldn’t notice him, who was not even out on the field… but he still wanted the team to be _better._ So he perhaps, maybe, probably, started shouting unsavoury things about the way the team was playing, adding some magic to his vitriol, judging by how the players were all suddenly scratching their various -- not necessarily PG -- body parts. This obviously didn’t sit well with them as they sent angry glares towards where Stiles’ shouting was coming from, but he could hear some people chuckling behind him on the bleachers, so he felt encouraged.

_“What are you doing,”_ came Derek’s warning tone. Not even a question. Stiles has gotten used to Derek aging with him, sounding like a grown man now, with a slight threat to his voice.

Having learned the hard way that mumbling to yourself gets you funny looks and the occasional fist in your face, Stiles ignored Derek’s question, which he knew pissed the angel off.

_“This is going to end badly. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you."_

**Oh, for fuck’s sake, Derek, just shup up already** _,_ Stiles thought. With Stiles’ puberty -- and a lot of judgemental eyebrow action from Derek --, he discovered that he could use his spark to communicate with Derek without having to actually talk out loud. Which meant he knew that Derek could hear him.

_“I will never understand why you like handing your ass to these jocks, practically giving up yourself on a silver platter to be beaten up. If you could just_ shut up _for a few minutes, you would avoid so many of these situations._ ”

**You done, old man? I don’t need yet another lecture. We have covered this a thousand times before. You are here to protect me. So I can do stupid things like this and I will be fine.**

_"I wish I got paired with someone who spends most of their time alone in their room, just playing video games and generally not having a life… oh wait…”_

**Har har, Derek, you are incredibly funny. Do they teach you how to entertain humans in that Angel Academy of yours?**

_“Shut up, Stiles,”_ came Derek’s -- very weak, if you’re asking Stiles -- retort.

With this conversation out of the way, Stiles could focus all his attention on Lydia and trash talking the team, especially one member, resident rising star Brian Corben. Stiles absolutely didn’t hold back, unleashing his pent up frustration on the other boy, magically making him bump into people, hoping they would lose their control and punch Corben in the face.

So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that only 10 minutes after the game was over, Brian Corben was pushing Stiles around in the locker rooms, shoving him into the wall.

“I saw your little crush out there tonight, Stilinski. That why you couldn’t keep your yepper shut? You want to act all tough for her, even from the benches?” Corben accentuated his point by repeatedly shoving at Stiles’ chest, hard enough to leave bruises.

“Well I’m sorry she came to see me,” Stiles lied a bit there, okay, “yet no one showed up for you. Guess being first line doesn’t mean you get past first _base_ ,” Stiles shouted, his confidence boosted by the loud booing and hissing of everyone in the locker room.

Corben’s face turned red and he surged forward, grabbing Stiles’ gear and slamming him back against the wall.

_“Careful, Stiles,"_ came Derek’s very helpful voice as Stiles could feel his spark igniting under his fingertips. He tried his best to keep it under wraps, not wanting to add insult to injury by letting his magic loose on the lacrosse team.

“I’m sure I could make _you_ go straight to 5th base,” Corben hissed and started dragging Stiles out of the locker room.

Panic flooded him, all his senses dampening as he was manhandled into a car.

_“I fucking_ told _you to keep your mouth shut. Jesus, Stiles, just breathe. In and out. In and out.”_

Derek knew the drill, this wasn’t Stiles’ first panic attack that Derek needed to talk him down from. 

_“You know how much I hate using my human form, but I swear to God, if he so much as touches you, I’m going to blast his ass into powder, ”_ Derek seethed, which made Stiles faintly chuckle.

The car stopped, followed by several other engines being cut off, and countless hands dragged Stiles out of the car. They started pulling his gear off, then his clothes, at which point Stiles’ brain kicked back online. He tried to fight them, using his magic as a taser, but there was someone behind him, holding his arms while someone else was dragging his pants off.

_“Fuck, Stiles, jsut say the word and I’ll do it, dammit,”_ Derek hissed, sounding ready to tear people apart to protect Stiles. _Aww, he_ did _care!_

When Stiles was completely naked, at least three people grabbed him, lifted him, and carried him a few steps away from the car. Then Stiles was weightless, flying and with a loud splash, he ended up in freezing water. As he was trying to swim with limbs that felt like lead, half of the lacrosse team was laughing at him from the shore, cameras out to record his humiliation. They were laughing at him, shouting disgusting things about him, _“you’re not that tough now, are you, Stilinski_ ” and _“show us how cold the water is, Stilinski. Oh wait, we wouldn’t be able to see much from this distance, anyway_ _”_. Stiles, humiliated and close to another panic attack, started moving towards them, but before he could reach them, they quickly gathered his clothes and were running towards their cars to leave. And that’s when Stiles saw _him_.

Derek, in his adult form, wearing a leather jacket, stubble on his face -- which was all harsh lines and very angry. A faint halo could be seen shimmering above his head, and it made him look like there was a lamp over him that accentuated certain parts of his face, but kept his eyes hidden in the shadows of his eyebrows. His eyes, though, were glinting a pale gold, standing out in contrast with the soft light from the barely-there halo.

As the lacrosse team was ready to climb in the cars and speed away, Derek put his hand on the hood of one of the cars, which immediately started smoking, then flames appeared under the hood. All the boys jumped away from the vehicle, only to realize that Derek was coming their way. Stiles didn’t know it was possible, but now he could see not only a halo, but faint outlines of wings around Derek. He looked menacing and breathtakingly beautiful at the same time. If Stiles had had enough blood that wasn’t congealed in his veins from the freezing water, it would have started rushing southward.

Derek, walking past the now burning car, was slowly marching towards the boys. Whoever was standing closest to him, the poor soul -- Stiles couldn’t really make it out who it was -- was next; Derek just touched the guy’s forehead and he immediately collapsed like a ragdoll whose strings were cut. The other guys were staring at Derek, gaping and frozen to the spot, when Derek lifted his hands, moving them in a decidedly Doctor Strange-esque manner, finally pointing them at the team members. His hands were glowing, what looked like tiny lightning bolts swirling around his fingers, casting a pale blue shadow over Derek’s thunderous features. 

As Derek was moving closer to the boys, they dropped Stiles’ clothes to the ground and without another glance back were sprinting towards the cars that would still start. Derek totalled yet another one of them with one of the bolts he was manipulating, which made one of the guys shriek like a newborn pig, to Stiles’ delight. In no time, though, they all squeezed into the remaining vehicles and were speeding off into the night. 

Stiles was standing there in the freezing water, which was now pooling around his knees as he managed to scramble over slippery rocks to the shallower parts, shocked and excited to equal measures, just staring at Derek, who, halo and wings long gone, was now smoothing down his leather jacket like he didn’t just give nightmares to a bunch of high school students. 

And gave decidedly _something else_ entirely to another student, Stiles realized, as he blushed a deep scarlet, trying to cover himself with his wet, freezing hands.

_“Seriously, Stiles? Again?”_

“Shut up, Derek, I can’t help it, okay? Have you seen yourself? With that face and leather jacket, coming to rescue me… it was bound to happen. Again…” Stiles tried to hide his face in his palm but then realized that that left his _other_ parts exposed to Derek’s gaze.

Derek, laughing, shoved Stiles’ clothes at him and headed to the car he magically totalled to try and make it work so they could get home before Stiles would catch pneumonia. 


End file.
